


In the Wake of Necessity and Need

by keirajo



Series: The Emperor and The Prime (quartet) [3]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dominance, Fingering, M/M, Oral Sex, Rage, Relationship(s), Rough Sex, Submission, There's a tag I can't use yet, Violence, because it spoils the surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keirajo/pseuds/keirajo
Summary: Rodimus Prime's relationship with Galvatron may not be the best of all relationships in the universe........but it very oddly works.  The ceasefire accords have been settled and something resembling "peace" between the Autobots and Decepticons have begun.   Rodimus wishes he could have something more from Galvatron--and, of course, the Decepticon Leader just doesn't get it.And wouldn't you just know it...........at that point, leave it to the Quintessons to cause problems!





	In the Wake of Necessity and Need

**Author's Note:**

> Galvatron is a slightly kinder jerk this time around. *laughs* But he's still Galvatron, that will never change.

**_ In the Wake of Necessity and Need _ **

 

 

            All in all, the signing of the ceasefire accords went well.  Of course, Rodimus Prime had absolutely no problem with them, as he’d helped Spike draft them………but Galvatron was in a rather agreeable mood after the Spark-bonding with his Prime.   The mellow attitude of the Decepticon Leader would probably wear off soon enough, but for now he had _everything he wanted_.   He’d finally conquered all of Rodimus Prime—so, he really was quite pleased with himself.

            About two months later saw the Leader of the Autobots returning to Chaar of his own accord, rather than by Galvatron’s request.   He’d filled out the diplomatic leave request with Ultra Magnus for _five days_ —he wanted to talk to some of the Decepticons and see what they were expecting from the accords, spend some time with Galvatron ( _of course!_ ) and explain that he had a different diplomatic mission he had to go on in two weeks—so, basically to forewarn the Emperor of the Decepticons that there would be short time where his Prime would be _unavailable_ to him.

            At the moment, Galvatron and a small force was absent from Chaar—they were dealing with some bold invaders calling themselves the Trylians, who decided they’d try and step in on Chaar’s planetary system.   Clearly these invaders either didn’t know who Galvatron was, or they wouldn’t have dared do it………or they simply didn’t care.

            _Woe betide the invaders_.

            So, all it meant was that Rodimus Prime had a chance to talk with the remainder of the Decepticons left behind on Chaar.   Most of them held a conversation with him long enough to be polite, before they chose to wander off, but there were a few friendly enough to sit down with him and talk about bigger things.  Especially Swindle…………who was a mech that had plenty of opinions to go around when Galvatron or Cyclonus were not in audial range.

            “Yeah, ultimately I’m happy for the accords,” Swindle said, cheerfully, placing a crate down in front of Rodimus and then sat down beside him with a crate of his own.   “During war, you really couldn’t legitimately trade—only con others.   But, honestly—bartering and haggling is an absolute art!”  The Combaticon laughed.   He pulled a dozen things out of his crate, making separate piles for the various pieces of junk……….useful for parts, good as knickknacks or just junk.

            “But you’re a pretty good con artist though,” Rodimus chuckled in return.   He began pulling stuff out of his crate, too, glancing at Swindle’s piles to make similar ones.

            “And clearly I’m _not_ denying it, Prime………..but there’s more shanix to be made by haggling over legal merchandise!”  Swindle responded, grinning over at the Autobot.  “Save those things, Prime—some of that can be used by the Constructicons.  That sphere, though—Hun-grr will die over having a new ball to chase.”

            Rodimus Prime laughed warmly, trying to picture the big, twin-headed monster mech acting like an Earth puppy-dog.

            “But you………are _you_ okay with _your particular agreements_ for the accords?”  The purple-and-greyed-green Combaticon asked, softly.

            “I know.  It sounds weird, but I kinda enjoy it.  He’s rough, but he really _does_ want me,” the young Prime answered, putting the sphere aside and the junk that Swindle said to save back into a nearby empty crate, handing it back to the other mech.

            Swindle tagged it with a couple glyphs that said “ _save_ ” and “ _important_ ” on it, before handing Rodimus Prime another crate to pull junk out of.

            “You _do_ know that he frags a whole bunch of others besides you, right?”  Swindle said, very quiet and very serious.

            “ _Yeah_ ………..I know monogamy is nowhere near on his mind,” Rodimus chuckled, inwardly wishing he could get Galvatron to be monogamous only with him.   “He expects me to be just like him and have lovers in and out of my berth at a whim, but I’m just really _not_ that kind of mech.”

            “Heh, you’re _definitely_ too nice for that, Prime,” Swindle laughed.  “I hope you’ll get to enjoy Galvatron’s attentions for quite a while.  Relationships……… _bonds_ ……….they’re all pretty difficult matters.  Those on a team like me, it’s unlikely we frag outside the team—and, I admit, I _ain’t_ really too fond of my teammates.”

            Rodimus gave a polite nod and began pulling junk out of the new crate he’d been given.

            “Speaking of teams, though—I was hoping for a chance to talk to the Constructicons while I am here, too,” the young Prime added as he gave Swindle a consoling pat on the shoulder.

            “ _Eh_ , Devastator’s the most stable of all the gestalts, so ol’ Galvy always resorts to him for battle,” Swindle sighed, giving a light shrug.  “The Predacons and the Terrorcons let their instinct override orders and we Combaticons can’t always hold it together through a whole fight.”

            “I get it.  As long as we have the accords, now………..there’s _plenty of time_.  I can’t try and rush things,” Rodimus said with a laugh.  “I _can’t_ be impatient Hot Rod anymore—gotta be Rodimus Prime!”

            “Heh…………glad I’m _not_ you!”  Swindle laughed.  “Sounds like way too much work for me!”

            “ _Priiiiiiiiime!!!!!!!!_ ”  A familiar voice roared from the skies above the central base area of Chaar.

            “ _Reallllllllllllllllllllly_ glad I’m not you, Prime!”  Swindle chortled as the flame-colored mech stood up.

            Rodimus Prime stretched and flexed his arms, rocking his head back and forth to loosen neck cables.  “Well, after making me wait……….I’m _not_ going to make it easy for him, today.  He’ll have to _catch_ me!  Later Swindle!”  Rodimus chuckled, transforming into his alt mode and racing across the dusty surface of Chaar.

            “ _Damn it, Prime_!”  Galvatron snarled, eagerly giving chase.

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

            The flame-colored mech moaned lustfully as Galvatron’s fangs lightly pierced his neck-cabling.  He felt _so hot and dizzy_ ……….and _extremely needy_ today.   However, he _wasn’t yet ready_ to surrender to his Emperor— _not just yet_!  Despite the fact that his HUD was flashing with system overheat warnings and pings for his array to be used………Rodimus Prime was _not surrendering_ , yet!

            He groaned softly, reaching a servo up to grab the center prong of Galvatron’s crowned helm as his other servo planted in the grey-and-purple mech’s neck fairing.  With a devilish grin, Rodimus heaved and spun, slamming Galvatron into the rock face that the Decepticon Leader had just pinned him to.   The grey-and-purple mech gave a light growl and a grumble, about to chew out his Prime when lips crashed over his own.

            Well, it was _not so bad_.  It wasn’t as if Galvatron didn’t enjoy a bit of roughness with his foreplay………but he _wasn’t_ particularly in the mood for any of this at the moment.   However, for Rodimus to become a bit more forceful _was_ appealing to him, so he decided to allow this all to happen right now—after all, a few dents from his precious Prime were just as treasured as _any_ battle scars.

            “My Emperor…………you are _so damn hot_ ,” Rodimus Prime moaned, pushing against Galvatron and pulling his lord’s hip-side data-ports open by force.

            “It is not as if I am complaining, my Prime…………but you are _really_ rather aggressive today,” Galvatron purred, one of his violet servos landing on a red hip while the other slid along neck cabling and painted a streak of purple-pink along the young Prime’s jawline.

            “Yeah, you think so?”  He asked, panting softly as he rocked up against his lover’s frame.  “I dunno, I think it’s because you’re _so hot_ ………..” Rodimus growled, diving in for more sloppy kisses, as he pulled at the port-adaptors on his Emperor’s hips and drove them hard into his own hip-ports.

            “If you say so, my Prime,” Galvatron chuckled, assaulted by more wet swipes of a glossa in his mouth again.   He didn’t necessarily _need_ another round of fragging today and the fight with the Trylians had annoyed him, so he decided to give Rodimus Prime a quick program sublimation and overload to get him to slow down and settle down.

            Galvatron let his program ghost sweep through the system that welcomed him so eagerly.   He almost drew back when he felt a “ _strangeness_ ” in his Prime’s program………..there was something that just _did not_ feel right to him.   The Decepticon Leader found the overheat protocols and forced them to initiate a cool-down cycle.  Then he just let his program ghost sweep and caress inside of his Prime’s systems to calm them both down.

            “Do you feel better now, my Prime?”  Galvatron asked, chuckling softly, as he grabbed Rodimus’ aft and pulled him close.

            Rodimus Prime shook his head, as if to clear the fog of lust from it.  “I………..I don’t know what came over me………..” the flame-colored mech whispered with great embarrassment.

            “I do not _ever_ mind your eagerness, but I worry that the foolish Autobots have once again overworked you.  I think you might have a mild virus in you program,” Galvatron said, firmly.  “I _refuse_ to fight or frag my Prime when he is not at his absolute best!”

            “ _Oh_ ,” Rodimus murmured, ducking his head with embarrassment.  Then he became disappointed.  Galvatron had already interfaced _with others_ today and didn’t need any “ _personal time for enjoyment_ ” at the moment.   He knew and even said so to Swindle—he _knew_ Galvatron wasn’t going to be monogamous.  _But he still wanted………!_    Upset at himself for throwing himself at Galvatron and not even knowing why, he tried to pull away from the Decepticon Leader, but the firm servos on his aft prevented him from moving.

            “You are **_mine_**.  To fight glorious battles with,” Galvatron said, his voice low and sensual.  “To frag at my whim,” he added, playfully digging his claws into the young Prime’s aft.  “To mold into my _perfect rival_ ……….and for that, you _cannot_ be infected with a virus within your systems!”

            Rodimus Prime trembled, feeling like crying.  He’d been sexually demanding and then admonished soundly.  He was _unwanted_ …………by the one whom he believed had truly wanted him at the moment.  The flame-colored mech’s insides twisted and knotted with immediate distress and anxiety as he tried to struggle and flail against the powerful Emperor of the Decepticons.

            And _then_ he purged………. _all over Galvatron’s chestplating_.  Stressed even more at what just happened, he flailed harder.

            Galvatron gave a mild sigh and sent a shutdown command through Rodimus Prime’s systems, forcing him into a light stasis.  When the flame-colored mech went limp in his arms, he finally pulled his data-port connectors free and let the cords snap back into his hips, before closing the panels.

            “Cyclonus,” Galvatron said in an even voice.

            “Yes, my lord?”  The Second-in-Command responded instantly, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

            “Prepare a washrack and then a nice, hot bath,” the Decepticon Leader ordered sharply.  Then he hefted his Prime up into his arms with a soft sigh as he saw the mess on both of their chests.  “I also want you to prepare a canister of medical-grade for my Prime.”

            “Understood, my lord……….will you also summon the medical chief on Cybertron, to come and attend the Prime?”  He asked, dipping his shoulders lightly.

            “I will not do so, as yet.  If my Prime is merely stressed, then having him rest here will be better than sending him home at the moment,” Galvatron responded.  “And as soon as I am done seeing to my Prime’s comfort—then I plan to rip out all of Ultra Magnus’ dignity with a sound lecture,” he added with a fierce growl.

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

            Rodimus Prime heard the arguing as he came out of the forced, short stasis.  He was in Galvatron’s gaudy, luxurious berth.   The overhang with its ridiculous, wavy carvings and the posts with some weird kind of organic angelic and demonic decorations on them…………it was all very familiar.  As well as the six layers of blankets and plush padding on the luxurious sleeping pallet……….all so very familiar to him.   He couldn’t remember how he got here, the last thing Rodimus remembered was………….

            _Oh, Primus!_

            And then he…………..

            **_OH, PRIMUS!!!_**

            “I am absolutely _the worst_ ,” Rodimus whispered, drawing his knees up and buried his face in them, rubbing against the soft layers of blankets.

            “Hardly,” a droll, familiar voice said from beside the berth.  “Drink this med-grade, Prime,” Cyclonus said, forcefully.

            The young Prime took the canister obediently and drank it in several, carefully measured, swallows.  Then he heard the infuriated yelling again.   One of the voices was undeniably, unmistakably Galvatron’s………..but the other had him puzzled.  It was _really familiar_ , but………….

            “Oh, hell……….. _that’s Magnus_!”  Rodimus gasped, kicking away the blankets and leaping to his pedes.

            “Have a care, Prime……..this is _not_ something you should interrupt,” Cyclonus said, with warning in his deep voice.

            “But Magnus will……” Rodimus Prime whispered, desperately worried.  “The accords…….. _I can’t_ …….. ** _we’ve worked so hard_**!”  He cried, softly.

            “Lord Galvatron knows how important these accords are—not just to you, but for the benefit of his own growing empire,” the stern grey-and-purple mech said, a clawed servo landing over the Autobot brand on the young Prime’s chest.  “Your Second needs to be lectured more often if he keeps refusing to take care of you.”

            “No…….look, Magnus is always really busy and………..” Rodimus said, firmly pleading with Cyclonus to let him go.  “It’s probably just………..”

            “If you even _whisper_ that it is your fault, I will rip out your vocalizer right now,” Cyclonus hissed, sharply.

            The young Prime shut up instantly, but he kept pleading with motions of his servos and optics to get Cyclonus to let him go and stop the escalating argument.  The Decepticon’s Second-in-Command kept shaking his head in the negative and eventually pushed Rodimus Prime back into the plush berth.  He folded his arms and glared at the flame-colored mech to get him to stay right where he was and out of the way.

            Rodimus shuttered his optics and listened to the yelling somewhere outside the room.  Galvatron’s voice was completely unmistakable, but Magnus’ loud responses were calmer and less emotional—as was Ultra Magnus’ way.  He remembered the day after he’d Spark-bonded with Galvatron and they were all in the shuttle, leaving Chaar with the signed accords.

 

_“You’re sure that he’s the one you want?   Now that you’ve Spark-bonded, you know that’s **eternal** ,” Ultra Magnus asked._

_They were letting Spike pilot the shuttle while the Autobot Leader and the Second-in-Command discussed the situation._

_“I know, you’re thinking it’s the **worst matchup ever**!   But……….Galvatron **really** wants me and that’s all that matters,” Rodimus Prime responded._

_“It’s……..it’s going to be difficult to grasp—not just for me, but for everyone else, too,” Ultra Magnus sighed.  “Just promise me that you **won’t** compromise your ideals for Galvatron’s whims…… **please**?”  He asked, softly._

_“Don’t worry, that’s all fine the way it is.  Galvatron really doesn’t want me to change anyways—he only wants me to grow stronger,” the young Prime chuckled, grinning at his Second._

 

            “See?  He is being made _to rest_ —as all of you should let him do!”  Galvatron snapped, as he and Ultra Magnus finally strode into the berthroom.  “ _Prime!_    How many days did you schedule to be here on Chaar?  Your Second refuses to answer me on that and demands an immediate return to Cybertron!”

            “Oh, _ummm_ …..” Rodimus began, sitting up and rubbing his helm—able to do so without Cyclonus’ warning glare directed at him anymore.  The Decepticon’s Second immediately turned his focus to Galvatron, once the violent mech was in the room.   “I filed the request for five days.  I plan to talk to the Constructicons about medical supplies and habitation block construction.  I already conducted some personnel surveys and interviews while you were out.  Kinda want to talk to you and Cyclonus at some point about the Galactic Alliance borders closest to you…………”

            “ _And_?”  Galvatron prompted, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping an impatient pede on the flooring.

            “Well, you know………..a little bit of personal time with you, too……….” The young Prime trailed off.  “But, yeah, I screwed that up pretty fast, didn’t I?”  He muttered, remembering how he purged all over Galvatron’s chest and that the Decepticon Leader was probably furious with him for that.

            “ _Nonsense_.  You will be taken care of and returned to Cybertron at the end of your requested leave,” Galvatron snapped, glaring at Rodimus Prime.   “The Constructicons will give you a medical check-up and you will _not stress_ over your work while you are here, am I clear on this, Prime?”  The grey-and-purple mech growled.

            “Yes, my lord,” the flame-colored mech answered, subdued, and ducked his head with embarrassment.

            “My Prime must _always_ be ready for his Emperor’s whims!   Therefore, Ultra Magnus, I will forgive his illness _this once_ —I expect you to take better care of him in the future!  That is _your_ sacred duty!”  Galvatron said, fiercely, turning his glare upon Magnus.   “He will be sent back to you promptly, once his leave expires.”

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

            All truth be told, Rodimus Prime felt totally awful for lying around in Galvatron’s berth all day.  He meekly submitted to Hook and Bonecrusher’s examinations and labs.  Ultra Magnus had said some words of concern to Rodimus, before leaving in a huff over Galvatron’s attitude.   But the young Prime had promised his Second-in-Command that he would do this to support the accords—he _really_ wanted the accords to work.

            At the end of whatever Galvatron deemed his “ _work day_ ”, he strode into the room and straight over to the berth.  His armour was polished and clean—so he’d clearly taken _another_ bath and probably had Cyclonus polish his armour.   The Decepticon Leader gave his Prime a cursory glance and made a rolling motion with one of his servos.

            Rodimus Prime gazed up at his lord and lover with a blank look on his faceplate.

            “ _Blankets_ , dammit—pull them back and _move over_ , you fool,” Galvatron growled with annoyance.

            The young Prime swallowed a heavily incycled breath and moved to the left side of the berth, holding the heavy half-dozen blankets up so the Decepticon Leader could climb in.  Galvatron sounded both angry and frustrated………and _not_ in a good way, that would lead towards something fun.   So Rodimus huddled at the left side of the massive berth and gave his Emperor plenty of room to himself.

            The grey-and-purple mech glanced over, growled fiercely, and reached over to grab Rodimus’ sunbright spoiler, yanking him over to the middle of the berth where he was laying.  Their bodies clanked against one other heavily and Rodimus gave a little “ _ooof_ ” sound when he collided with the body of his Emperor.

            “Hook tells me that you are _not_ ill.  He tells me that there is _no viral signature_ in your systems and _no infection_ in your body,” Galvatron said, sliding his arm underneath Rodimus’ waist to cup his aft possessively.  The young Prime took that as a sign that it was all right to curl up at the Decepticon Leader’s side.   “ _Nnngh_.  I am _not_ wrong, I am _never_ wrong.   Is it _just_ that you are stressed and overworked, my Prime?”  He asked, head tilting over so he could look at the faceplate of the young Autobot Leader.

            “I dunno.  _Maybe_.  Are you angry with me, my lord?”  Rodimus murmured, holding the Decepticon’s gaze.  “I…….. _your armour_ ……..”

            “There is a part of me that would very much like to be angry with you and blast you into the next star system,” Galvatron answered with a deep sigh, squeezing Rodimus’ aft gently.  “But you came here of your own whim, because you wanted some time with me and to try and make sure your precious accords will work for my empire.”

            It was close enough, Rodimus decided………so he let it go.  “Galvatron…….. _my lord_ ………I also wanted to tell you that in two weeks, I have to go to a conference.   I _absolutely have to_ —it is a peace meeting between **_leaders_** , so I _can’t_ back out of it.   There will, unfortunately, be a time when I am _unavailable_ to you…….but I’m sure others will keep you occupied,” Rodimus said, a bit of sharpness on the latter part.  He _didn’t_ want to say it, but it was eating at him and if he didn’t say it, he might cry in front of the mech he loved—and he _didn’t_ want to do that.  Galvatron could never handle him when he was upset and emotional.

            Galvatron reached over with his free servo and swept a finger under Rodimus Prime’s chin—he caught the sharpness of the tone and it puzzled him.   But he let it go, as one of those many things he would _never understand_ about his Prime……..like the weird field emotion of “ _love_ ”.  If he bothered himself about _all_ _those small things_ that were a part of his Prime, he would _never_ be at his best, himself.

            “I am so _very frustrated_ with these Trylians,” Galvatron said, instead.   “They keep pushing their way into my empire’s borders, even when we thrash them soundly every time.  So, at the moment, I have _no extra anger_ to spare on a foolish Prime,” he sighed.  “By the way, your purging was _very weak_ —are you not fueling properly?   Why will you not take better care of yourself?   _You belong to me_ and you must _always_ be at your best!”  The grey-and-purple mech growled.

            “But I’m _trying_ , Galvatron……….. _I really am_!”  Rodimus cried, softly.  “It’s just………..my days get too busy and I get too tired to go to the fuel prep room.”

            “You shall simply have to give your duties to others— _refocus_ your day so that you _have the time_.  You _cannot_ be a great leader if you cannot care about yourself,” Galvatron said, very simply, as if it were the _only_ answer in the world.

            Rodimus Prime buried his faceplate in Galvatron’s shoulder.  He _knew_ the Decepticon Leader was right—even if he did not remember his days as Megatron, he had the vast millennia of experience as a leader which Megatron had deep within him.   Rodimus _had to learn_ to set aside his fears that the Autobots would abandon him—and stop taking on more tasks than he could handle without bringing himself to weakness and to harm.  He _needed_ to find the ones who could do those tasks and assign them accordingly.   He also had to _stop being jealous_ of everyone that Galvatron fragged when “ _his Prime_ ” was not around, monogamy was something that Galvatron would never understand.   Jealousy that stemmed from a desire for monogamy would be beyond Galvatron’s grasp.   He had to just accept things the way they were.

            “Let me _make it up to you_ —since Hook informed you that I am _not_ actually ill,” the young Prime said, softly, smiling as he pulled the blankets up completely over their heads and buried them in plush darkness.

            As Rodimus Prime leaned over him and gave him a light kiss, Galvatron noted that the intense blue glow of the Autobot’s optics reminded him of the Spark within his young Prime’s chest.   _That glow_ reminded him of everything that Rodimus Prime was—and that Rodimus Prime belonged to him.   Still…………he had encountered _an oddity_ within his precious Prime’s program and it bothered him.  If it was _not_ an illness………could it _simply_ be from stress and improper fueling?

            “It is too hot to be fooling around underneath all these blankets, my Prime,” Galvatron complained, though he found he was actually getting a little excited that his Prime was back to being energetic.

            Rodimus grinned and slid down until his head was between his Emperor’s legs.   He kissed and licked the warm spike panel and was rewarded with a heavy violet servo stroking his helm.  The flame-colored mech felt heat growing behind his own array panels.   He really hoped he wasn’t _too awful_ at spikesucking, as he’d _never_ done this yet…………but he really wanted to try something new to please Galvatron.

            “My lord and master………..will you let me enjoy your spike?”  Rodimus asked, dragging his glossa wetly along the panel.

            “The way you beg _pleases_ me,” Galvatron chuckled, opening his spike panel for his young Prime.

            The black spike pressurized and was completely invisible in the darkness under the blankets—except for the crimson biolights along the underside, following the transfluid pressure line.  They were pulsing with a soft and steady hue—and were Rodimus Prime’s only guide to where his Emperor’s spike was.  The flame-colored mech hesitantly licked up the length of the biolights and found the blunt, rounded head of his lover’s spike.  Rodimus brought his left servo up and lightly cupped a portion of the length with fingers and a palm—so, now he knew where Galvatron’s spike was in the darkness.

            “My beloved Emperor—this is _the first time_ I have ever done this, so you have my apologies if I am not very good at it,” Rodimus said, softly.  “Please tell me what you like and what you do not like.”

            “I will enjoy your ministrations, my Prime……..so, _experiment_ as you like,” Galvatron said, his voice a deep and sensual purr.  Then he began to rub Rodimus’ red helm some more.  “I would also prefer that _you_ enjoyed yourself, too.  Let us ease some of your stress—that way we may do something far more energetic before you leave here,” the Decepticon Leader added, a soft chuckle in his vocalizer.

            Rodimus smiled to himself, Galvatron may be a selfish and violent bastard—but he enjoyed his pleasures and made sure his partners enjoyed them as well.  _Partners_ ……….the fact that Galvatron still interfaced with others bothered Rodimus Prime and he knew that he _shouldn’t_ let it bother him, because he _couldn’t_ ask Galvatron to be monogamous with him.  But that was neither here nor there, right now……..at the moment, there was just this time under the blankets and it was _only_ Galvatron and Rodimus Prime.

            Rodimus rubbed the tip of his forefinger into the small slit opening on Galvatron’s spike.  As he did so, he felt fluid begin to gather around his fingertip and soft grunt of satisfaction from the Decepticon Leader told the young Prime he was on the right track.   As he let his finger continue to play with the wet tip of the thick, black spike, he began to drag his glossa along the length—in heavy, wet strokes.   The flame-colored mech enjoyed the feel of heat in the organ, as well as the taste of Galvatron’s sensitive derma……..he began to feel hot and wet between his own legs and groaned softly.

            Galvatron heard the sound and responded to his Prime with a light chuckle, stroking the red helm once more.  “Go on, my Prime—you have one other hand not doing anything at the moment, am I correct?  Surely you know how to play with yourself, _mmm_?”  The grey-and-purple mech teased softly.

            “I’m……..I’m not good at doing _that_ , either…….” Rodimus murmured, shyly.  “You found me a virgin mech and _all_ of my only experiences have been _with you_.”

            “ _Tch_ , you should practice more with others, fool……..but there is a part of me which is very pleased to be your _only one_ ,” Galvatron said, stroking Rodimus Prime’s red helm fondly.

            The young mech grinned and began licking Galvatron’s rigid spike again, but this time he also obeyed his Emperor’s directive to play with his own array as well.  His valve panel slid open instantly and he brushed the wet rim with curiosity.  It was very strange……..he didn’t really know _what_ he expected it to feel like.  Rodimus was a bit awed to find it soft and wet and warm—no wonder Galvatron enjoyed being inside of him so much!

            “There now, it’s not so bad……….is it, my Prime?” The Decepticon Leader chuckled, his voice full of pleasure and teasing.

            “It’s _so soft_ down there…………..” Rodimus murmured, after giving his Emperor’s spike another broad stroke with his glossa.   “This is slow……..and kinda nice.”

            “ _Yes_.  This should be done every so often to recharge passions.  Now, simply relax and enjoy this……..and ease _all your stresses_ , my Prime,” Galvatron purred, stroking Rodimus’ red helm with encouragement.

            The young Autobot Leader kept licking the length of his lover’s thick spike, as he rubbed the wet lips of his valve with increasing excitement.   At one point of the mutual pleasuring, the heel of his servo bumped against his swollen anterior node and the flame-colored mech gave a little squeal of surprise as pleasure rippled through his frame.

            Galvatron couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised little noise from his young Prime.   Rodimus Prime’s innocent sexuality was actually something of a turn-on to him.  Despite the fact that his mood for this activity had been low at the start, he found himself starting to get into it now, as he watched his Prime slowly learn more about his sexuality and passion.

            “You should play more with that little node you just found, _mmm_?”  The grey-and-purple mech chuckled, petting the red helm beneath his violet servo.

            “You………you can’t even see what I’m doing!   _How do you know?!_ ”  Rodimus groaned.

            “You are designed like Cyclonus and most of the others—I know how the gasps and groans sound when _certain parts_ are touched,” Galvatron purred.  “But if I might offer you some advice on how to proceed?   Rather than merely licking my spike—why don’t you _put it in your mouth_?”  He chuckled.

            “I’m………..I’m worried that I won’t be as good as you want me to be…….” Rodimus Prime whispered.

            All of the sudden, the violet servo stroking the young Prime’s red helm grabbed fiercely and slammed Rodimus’ forehead into Galvatron’s hip with a hard clang.

            “ ** _Ow_** _!  Hey!!_ ”  Rodimus cried, in complete shock from the violent move.

            “ _Prime!_    You are _pissing me off_ —if you want something, you _just grab it_!   You are clearly eager to play and frag!   _Just do it_!”  Galvatron snarled, furiously.

            “You’ll _really_ let me, my lord?”  The flame-colored mech asked, quietly.  “Even if I’m really _bad_ at it?”

            “If you are bad at it, then this will be a learning experience for you,” the Decepticon Leader growled.  “If you turn out to be good at it, then it will be pleasurable for us both—will it not?”

            Rodimus couldn’t help but laugh at Galvatron’s ridiculously simple logic.   “Yeah, okay……….. _here I go_ ,” he began, incyling a deep breath.  Then the Decepticon Leader grabbed his helm and the young Prime looked across the darkness into glowing red optics.

            “Fingers go _inside of you_ ,” Galvatron said, firmly.

            “O—okay…….” Rodimus stammered.

            “ ** _Inside_**.  That is the key word here.  So, _do that_ ,” the grey-and-purple mech snapped, softly.

            “Yeah!   I _will_ ……….for the love of Primus, _I understand_!”  The flame-colored mech groaned.

            Rodimus Prime gave a deep incycle and a heavy exvent before he opened his mouth around Galvatron’s thick, black spike.  And then he took it into his mouth as far as he could take it, until it bumped into the rim of his intake, rather roughly.  Galvatron’s spike was far too big to go any further in his mouth or down his throat without damaging his intake piping—so, now came the part where he was just supposed to move his mouth on it.  Like when he had been riding his lover’s spike when using his valve a couple months ago.

            _His valve_.  That’s right, he had to give attention to _that_ , too—or Galvatron’s anger would reignite.   Rodimus slid his two forefingers on his right servo past the soft, mesh lips and into his heated wetness.  _‘Oh……..wow………..this is pretty nice…….’_ the young Prime thought.   He began moving his mouth on Galvatron’s spike as his thrusting fingers gave his own valve the attention it was craving.  The heel of his servo was pressing and rubbing against his anterior node as he kept his fingers at a swift thrusting rhythm.  It was driving him crazy with lust.

            The young Prime was wholly unaware of the sounds in his vocalizer as he focused all concentration on his spikesucking and finger-fragging.  But Galvatron heard every single sound and was very pleased that his precious Prime was finally enjoying himself.  The Emperor of the Decepticons reminded himself that at some point he should ask Cyclonus to help Rodimus Prime improve his technique.  His Second-in-Command would likely grumble and complain about it, but he would still obey his lord’s orders in the end.

            But the young Autobot Leader’s _innocence_ made up for his lack of skill in the arousal and foreplay department…………Galvatron was very surprised to find himself so close to overload _already_.  He grabbed his Prime’s red helm in both of his violet servos and pulled him down hard on his spike as he overloaded with a heavy grunt of pleasure.

            Rodimus Prime gagged and nearly choked on the thick head of his lover’s spike ramming his intake until the rush of hot transfluid down his throat triggered his own overload.  He coughed as he came, the walls of his valve pulsing mercilessly around his fingers.

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

            Eventually the five days of ambassadorial leave were up and Rodimus had to return to Cybertron.  Poor First Aid nearly blew a dozen fuses as he saw the obvious marks of Galvatron’s most recent rough interfacing on his Prime’s body.    The Chief Medical Officer sobbed helplessly when he saw the bruised and dented intake piping in Rodimus’ throat.  Rodimus just chuckled softly and apologized profusely at making his CMO worry so much about him.

            And then the time came for the Galactic Alliance Leadership Conference.  It was to be a four-day convention with discussions and panels about the state of the worlds in the alliance, as well as inducting Earth into the Galactic Alliance.  While Daniel had to remain home and was being watched by Bumblebee at Metroplex on Earth—Spike and Carly were in attendance, with a few EDC guards, as the Ambassadors for Earth.

            The two Earthlings had proven to be very popular with many of the Galactic Alliance leaders, so Rodimus Prime hadn’t seen much of his human friends since they all came here aboard Sky Lynx together.   Rodimus had his own protective unit with him—the team of Protectobots.  Ultra Magnus had _absolutely insisted_ on a bodyguard and Rodimus Prime had personally requested that his CMO travel with him.   So, while the other three Protectobots wandered around the conference halls checking for trouble or offering help to others…….only Hot Spot and First Aid remained in the young Prime’s immediate vicinity.

            Two days into the conference finally brought trouble, _quite literally_ , to Rodimus Prime’s reserved table at a panel.

            Rodimus, Hot Spot and First Aid were chatting cheerfully as they entered the large conference room on the first floor of the five-story building.   They were early for this particular panel, so only about a dozen other people were in the room right now.  As the trio walked around looking for the reserved table, they greeted the other leaders who were lounging around and chatting in the room.

            When they reached their reserved table, there were already two people sitting there………and then the room went deathly silent when the strange, bulky one at the table drew an electrolance and aimed it at Rodimus Prime’s chest.

            “ _Quintessons_!”  Hot Spot hissed, moving to reach into his subspace compartment for one of his guns.

            Rodimus Prime calmly snapped his arms out in front of Hot Spot and First Aid in a gesture that said “ _don’t move_ ”.  At that point, the heavy entryway doors slammed shut and blastproof shutters fell down over the walls of the room.   Everyone else in the room moved as far away as they could from Rodimus’ party and the two strangers, tipping over tables for protection.

            “Well now, you’re a different model Quint than I’ve ever seen,” Rodimus said, keeping his voice even and calm.

            “ _Raj-ur-Malekk_ , Chief Biologist,” the Quintesson responded, pulling back from the table with a manner as calm as Rodimus Prime’s.   He had an armoured look, like some of the rogue Quintesson scientists they’d run into had worn—but rather than multi-tentacled arms, there was just thick, single-tentacle arms……and the tips branched into several smaller appendages, clearly used for grabbing and manipulating things.

            “ _Rodimus Prime_ , Autobot Leader,” the flame-colored mech responded, politely nodding his head by way of introduction.   “How many of you are here?”

            “There are a few from my ship—we felt a large gathering of many societies such as this would bring us a wealth of biological data,” Raj-ur-Malekk said in his multi-layered voice.

            However, Rodimus noted only _two_ layers in his vocal-structure and _not five_ ………plus the head area had a helm that was flat at the back.   The young Prime wondered if this Quintesson had damaged head-masks…….?  Plus there was the fact that this particular Quintesson offered up a _name_ —which meant he was a _very old_ Quintesson.   This Raj-ur-Malekk also had his own ship and his own crew—and it _did not_ sound small by the way he spoke.   He was clearly a very old Quintesson that had money and power.

            “Rawjaw, put your lance down—we are all securely locked in here at the moment, so let us be _civil_ with one another,” Raj-ur-Malekk ordered, waving with a tentacle at his bodyguard.

            That meant that the bulky one was some kind of enhanced or modified _Sharkticon_ bodyguard.  A Sharkticon with an actual **_NAME_** , which was something Rodimus Prime had _never_ encountered before.   The young Autobot Leader watched carefully as Rawjaw growled and grumbled, collapsing his electrolance into its portable mode and placed it into a subspace pocket—as Cybertronians could do.

            Raj-ur-Malekk gazed down at his datapad, which had begun to make an incredibly obnoxious beeping sound.  His body made a clicking sound, as if he were trying to switch head-masks, but nothing happened—the _Mask of Rationality_ stayed in place.  The Quintesson biologist, however, paid this issue no mind as he focused on the glyphs that his datapad was showing him.

            All of the sudden, the _Mask of Rage_ clicked into place on the Quintesson’s damaged head-area and Raj-ur-Malekk suddenly began to furiously beat the datapad on the edge of the table until it was nothing but bits of scrap.   Vicious-sounding ancient Cybertronian language poured from his mouth and then in moments, the _Mask of Rationality_ clicked back into place.

            “Ah, another datapad ruined because of my temper,” Raj-ur-Malekk said, dispassionately.

            Rodimus Prime glanced back-and-forth between Hot Spot and First Aid, puzzled by what just happened.

            “Hey, _you’re_ the one berthing a fruitcake like that—I bet you should have _no trouble_ talking to him,” Hot Spot chuckled with good humour toning his vocalizer.

            Rodimus groaned as he facepalmed himself.

            Then a second datapad in front of Raj-ur-Malekk began to make the same obnoxious beeping sound that the first one had.  The Quintesson biologist started to reach for it, but thought better of it and backed away instead.  “Rawjaw, turn on the silent mode of that device—I don’t want to wind up destroying _another one_ ,” the Quintesson sighed softly.

            The Sharkticon bodyguard pressed a clawed fingertip against the mute switch on the side of the datapad and then returned to his fierce and ready stance.

            “ _So_.  Which one of you is it?   Which one of you is…….” and then the Quintesson spouted a word in ancient Cybertronian, which was the Quintessons’ original language.

            All three Autobots looked at each other, seriously puzzled, and just held up their servos—waving and shrugging at the Quintesson biologist with confusion.

            “ _You_ ,” Raj-ur-Malekk snapped, pointing at First Aid.  “You have the universal medical symbol painted on you—tell me, which one of you three is _sparked up_?”  He growled.  Then he began muttering random things in a low breath.  “Which is utterly impossible, given the original design data and the failures, but my bio-scanners are registering that one of you **_is_** ……..” he muttered.

            “Sparked………” Hot Spot murmured, looking at First Aid.

            “…….up?”  Rodimus Prime concluded, also looking over at First Aid.

            “ _Don’t look at me!_    I’ve _never_ even heard the term before………unless……..?”  First Aid gasped, suddenly getting an idea what the Quintesson biologist was asking.  “Can………..can I see your datapad?”  The Autobot Medic asked, pointing at Raj-ur-Malekk’s vibrating datapad on the table.

            “Rawjaw—once we know _which_ one it is, we’ll take them back to the ship.  It’ll give us new data on an old design flaw in their species,” Raj-ur-Malekk said, shoving the datapad across the table to First Aid.

            “ _Extraordinary_!”  First Aid gasped, scanning all the medical data glyphs quickly.   “Maybe Galvatron has some interesting usefulness after all.  You’ve got a _newspark_ inside of you!”  The Protectobot medical officer said with excitement, shoving the datapad into Rodimus Prime’s faceplate.

            “That’s………..that’s _stupid_ ……..?  I mean, _literally_ …………..how could **_I_** forge a Spark?  I’m not _Vector Sigma_!”  Rodimus groaned, pushing the datapad down from his face to a level where he could actually read the old glyphs.

            “It’s the leader— _take him_ ,” Raj-ur-Malekk ordered, motioning at Rawjaw.

            The Sharkticon bodyguard had his electrolance out instantly and took a step towards the three Autobots.  They backed into defensive stances and drew weapons…………Hot Spot with his twin concussion blasters, First Aid with his precision rifle and Rodimus with the design piping of his arms which were rapid-fire blaster-shots.    Ready and waiting for the attack, Rodimus Prime also sent a hurried glyph message to his lord and lover.

            But would Galvatron even come?

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

            Heat shimmer even showed in the cold, emptiness of space as Galvatron shot a full-power blast from his nova cannon at the Trylian’s massive flagship.   It was half-absorbed by the energy shield, but still took part of the blast in the side of the vessel.   These cyborg pests were pissing him off more and more as they kept invading the system of planets where Chaar was.

            “ _Rrrargh!!!_ ”  Galvatron roared with fury.  “Cyclonus!  Contact Soundwave—I want him to send out Predaking and Abominus to our location immediately, to tear apart these fools!”  He snarled, wheeling about to focus back on the flagship.

            Suddenly an urgent glyph message flashed up on his HUD, behind his optics.

 

|   **_Galvatron.  Help.  Quintessons._**    |

 

            It had his Prime’s signature glyph tagged to it.

            “ _Quintessons_!?”  He roared in rage.  “Cyclonus!  My Prime has encountered some of those five-faced slime!  You will remain here with the battlefront and drive back these pests!  I shall go and take care of this other problem!”  He ordered sharply.

            “Yes, my Emperor!”  Cyclonus responded instantly.

            Galvatron opened up his thrusters to maximum output, heading for the coordinates that Rodimus Prime pinged him with.   He was at _that damn conference_ ………was there not any security at this place?!   He arrived and crashed through several ceiling-floors in the building until he landed in the room that his precious Prime’s coordinates claimed him to be in.  The Emperor of the Decepticons landed in a one-leg-to-the-floor knelt position, his arm with the nova cannon was pointed at the ground while his other arm was near his chest, violet servo clenched into a fist.

            “ _Priiiiiiiime!!_    To _where_ do I am my nova cannon?!”  He growled, very fierce and very feral at the moment.

            “Raj-ur-Malekk—I’d like you to meet the one responsible for _my condition_ ,” Rodimus Prime, chuckled, motioning over at Galvatron.  “He _really_ loves you Quintessons………..he loves you guys **_A LOT_**.”

            Wherever this Quintesson biologist had been hiding in the universe—he still clearly knew _exactly_ who Galvatron was and began backing away quickly.

            “ _Rawjaw!_   Abandon mission, we’re leaving!”  Raj-ur-Malekk snapped, using the ship’s transmat to teleport them both away.  And likely teleporta away any of the other Quintesson crew members that were at the conference.

            “Galvatron!   Their ship!  _You need to…………!_ ”  Rodimus yelled, but Galvatron had already propelled himself back through the holes he’d made when he entered.

            “You will _not_ get away!!”  Galvatron roared in absolute rage, seeing a ship trying to lift off from the landing pad of the conference’s parking area.   It was not the standard Quintesson design, but was still very long in shape.  His sensors tagged the partial organic-biological signatures aboard as “ _Quintessons_ ” and he instantly began charging up his nova cannon to full-power.

            The Decepticon Leader fired, just before the ship warped—but he was _certain_ he had hit the engines.  So he hoped the whole damn thing would just _explode in hyperspace_ , but if not………….the ship was very badly damaged.   Galvatron was still seething, however, as he dropped down through the holes he had made and looked around for Rodimus Prime.   The one who would surely explain this whole mess to him.

            “Prime.  What happened here?”  He asked, his voice a raw and deep grunt of annoyance.  Galvatron stalked over to Rodimus Prime and stood in front of him.

            First Aid had _never_ actually been this close to Galvatron in his entire life and he found the Decepticon Leader’s EM field _very overwhelming_ —especially as it was swirling with anger and frustration at the moment.   Hot Spot sensed his teammate’s anxiety and moved closer to First Aid, draping his own comforting field over the medic’s.

            “It’s a long story………..as almost anything involving me seems to be,” Rodimus sighed, placing a gentle servo over the Decepticon brand on Galvatron’s chest and patting lightly.   “Thanks for answering my call for help, I really appreciate it,” he added, looking into the red glass coverings over his lover’s optics.  The Decepticon Leader gave a mild grunt and nodded.  “I think that Quintesson was going to take me and carve me up while I was living to see what………was inside………..” he whispered.  Galvatron’s powerful presence was making waves of arousal rush through the young Prime’s systems and he was finding it hard to concentrate on his explanation.

            “Were they after the Matrix?” Galvatron asked, curiously, tilting his head and placing a possessive hand on the flame-colored mech’s red hip.

            Rodimus Prime shook his head in the negative, not yet knowing how to explain _this_ to _Galvatron_ of all people.  He glanced back at First Aid and motioned at his CMO.  The Protectobot medic just trembled and shook his head rapidly.   The Autobot Leader gave a deep sigh and focused back on Galvatron.

            “So, you remember a couple weeks ago when you thought I had a virus of some kind?”  Rodimus Prime began.  Galvatron nodded.  “Well, an _impossible miracle_ has happened…………..and it’s probably only because of **_you_** and **_me_**.”

            “ _Ngh_.  I hate when your words dance, Prime—spit it out, _plainly_ ,” Galvatron snapped, losing patience.

            “I have a _newspark_ inside of me— ** _yours and mine_**.  Probably forged by our intense Spark-bonding?”   Rodimus Prime answered, gazing into Galvatron’s optics, hoping for understanding.

            “I _do not understand_ these words of yours,” Galvatron growled, folding his arms across his chest and tapping a pede on the floor with frustration.

            “First Aid!   Please help me out here!   _I don’t know what I should be saying so that he gets it_!”  Rodimus cried, looking back at his CMO desperately.

            “ _Umm_ ……..is there a dark room around here somewhere?”  First Aid asked, looking over to the barricade of tables where the other convention guests had been huddled.

            “I’ll turn off the lights,” someone in the room said.  They walked over to a wall—they were short, blue and had six arms—where the blastproof shutters had finally been retracted.   “There’s still the hole up there, but if you move to a corner of the room, you should be given plenty of darkness,” the alien responded with a hand near the switch.

            Others had begun to creep out from the barricades, curious at the whole situation.  They’d all been in the room when the Quintesson had declared the whole “ _sparked up_ ” thing and while they weren’t quite sure what it meant to the Transformer species—they were starting to get a general idea when they saw the way Galvatron and Rodimus Prime were acting towards one another.   None of them realized that Galvatron could be non-destructive—even if the holes in the floor-ceilings told a different story.

            So, Rodimus Prime began pushing Galvatron over to a far corner of the huge room and the two Protectobots followed him.  As soon as the four Transformers were in the corner, the short blue alien turned off the lights.

            “The Quint’s datapad says our species was created with the potential to forge new life, but it went unrealized when the practicality of our forms wouldn’t allow it,” First Aid said, scanning the historical records as rapidly as he could.  “There’s a lot more for me to read on things, but I think……….. _maybe_ ………..Rodimus is _ultra-fertile_ because of the Matrix and……… _ummmm_ ………Galvatron is _hyper-virile_ because of Unicron’s modifications to his system and frame…………” the medic stammered nervously, cringing when the garish-orange nova cannon was pointed at him.  “ _Sorry!_   I’m sorry!   But I think it’s probably true!   Open Rodimus’ chest and see if you can see a second Spark there!”  First Aid cried, dashing behind Hot Spot for protection.

            Galvatron pinned Rodimus Prime into the corner, to hide as much of his Prime as he could from the prying eyes of everyone in the room.  Because what was inside of his precious Prime’s chest was **_his_** and would only _ever_ be seen by **_HIM_**.   With Rodimus’ grey servos lightly over his own violet ones, showing his acquiescence to his lord’s desire to open his chestplating, Galvatron gently opened Rodimus Prime’s chestplate.   Glowing red optics took in the newly familiar sight of the Matrix of Leadership…….and slightly above and behind that was the spark-chamber.

            The iris on the spark-casing was open even wider than it had been before.   The Decepticon Leader wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for as a “ _second Spark_ ” in his Prime’s chest.   And then………

            **_There it was._**   A small, soft-lavender light hovering around the brilliant blue-white full-size Spark became visible to him.  It was _so very small_ that if Galvatron hadn’t been told specifically to look for another Spark……..he _never_ would have seen it at all.  It would’ve been completely eclipsed by the blue-white star belonging to his precious Prime.

            Galvatron closed Rodimus Prime’s chest and pressed a violet servo over the Autobot symbol branded there.  Then the grey-and-purple mech cupped his young Prime’s chin with his free servo, staring intently into the blue tempered-glass covered optics.

            “Medic.  _What_ does this mean?  And what are we to do about it?”  Galvatron said, his voice low and commanding.

            “I………I’ll need to read this Quintesson bio-medical journal some more to find out the proper theorized procedure for this.  But it’s _never happened before_ so……” First Aid trailed off, having to clear his vocalizer of static several times before he could get the words out.   “But it means…………you are this newspark’s _sire_.  It could _only_ be you……….and _only Rodimus_ , as well.  You two have done something that _no other Cybertronian_ has ever done before.”

            “ _Mmm_.  I like that.  **_We_** are the only ones who could ever do _this thing_ ,” Galvatron purred, moving close and nuzzling Rodimus’ neck-cabling with rising desire.  “Open for me, my Prime—let me **_reward_** you for this…….” he whispered, fiercely, biting lightly into the neck-cabling.

            “Yes……… _my lord_ …………” Rodimus panted, overwhelmed by Galvatron’s demanding presence, grabbing at his lover’s arms to steady himself as his valve panel snapped open and lubricant began to trickle down his orange thighs.

            Hot Spot groaned, facepalming himself, right before he and First Aid ran over to the curious group of Galactic Alliance leaders and bodyguards—doing everything they could to push them out of the room _ASAP_.  Though it was quite clear the near-dozen otherworlders were all curious to see Transformer sexuality in action, as they hesitated and kept looking back as the two Leaders of the different factions began making-out quite intensely.   And, clearly, Galvatron had _no intention_ of stopping to look for a room of privacy, while Rodimus Prime’s own brain had utterly shut down as he submitted to his sparkmate’s passions.

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

            As the news spread throughout the Autobot ranks…………..the Decepticon forces……………the human allies on Earth—as well as _every single intergalactic tabloid_ in the entire universe!!!—Rodimus Prime found it difficult to get _any_ _work done_ , _any peace whatsoever_ or _any privacy_ on Cybertron or in Metroplex on Earth.  _Even on Athenia!!!_    So, for the next near-year, he found himself retreating often to Chaar, because _nobody_ would mess with Galvatron.

            The datapad that First Aid had inadvertently “ _taken_ ” from the Quintesson biologist, Raj-ur-Malekk, had tons of the original Cybertronian design information on it………..the original designs for the two slave lines.  According to all of the data, the two lines were actually built to forge new life—primarily to save on the expense of new materials to keep building new slaves, it seemed far more efficient if the slaves could reproduce on their own.

            There were hundreds of files for conceptual art and designs for the early slave lines that were the predecessors of the Autobots and the Decepticons.  The military hardware line were originally designed with the spike and transfluid functions, while the consumer goods line were designed with the valve and gestation tank functions.   However, no matter how close to an organic biological imperative the two designs were gifted with—they still _could not_ forge new life.  The Quintessons raged over this feature for decades to get a forging of life to work through interface functions, but it seemed to be _impossible_.

            They could not figure out how to make an interfacing create a new Spark.

            In the end, they abandoned _this particular function_ for their two slave lines and created the Master Programmer, Vector Sigma, to forge new Sparks for their creations.  Over time and after the slave lines had rebelled against the Quintessons and claimed Cybertron—the A.I. of the Master Programmer took over the function of creating new frames to go with the new Sparks, which was how the later models that became known as the Autobots and the Decepticons came to have _more unique designs_ and personalities.  Rather than the previous slave lines’ _mass produced similarities_.   Also, with the fact that the forge function could never work in the Cybertronian systems as they were, Vector Sigma saw no need to delineate the interface functions and capabilities of the newer models, thus the interface array had become more of an aesthetic design and **_all_** Cybertronians had spike and valve mechanisms in their frames.

            But then there was _Galvatron_ —rebuilt and modified by Unicron.  Unicron understood the forge capability coding within the depths of the Decepticon programs and used his re-creation of those Decepticons to restore the ability to forge new life.   As Unicron had consumed many organic worlds, he understood the concept of creation technology and utilized that.  That was why Galvatron had _only_ a spike mechanism.   Cyclonus and Scourge were much less important to Unicron, as far as things went—so that was why he experimented on their forge protocols and interface functions a bit more.

            But, because they had all been created by Unicron—they all had a _similarity of coding_.  Yes, their coding and protocols could create and forge new life, but they could not forge and create with one another.  That was why probably neither Scourge, the Sweeps and _especially not Cyclonus_ had ever been sparked up by their lord and master in all this time.

            At the other end of the spectrum, there was _Rodimus Prime_ —the current bearer of the Matrix of Leadership.  It was a repository of power and knowledge, which had taken upon itself to reformat Hot Rod’s body into something else, _something new_ —it had _never_ reformatted a bearer like this before.  But perhaps it knew the destiny that was to happen between the two Leaders of each faction.   The Matrix had the knowledge of the forge and creation protocols and opened up the possibility to finally use it, by reformatting Hot Rod’s body into Rodimus Prime.

            And **_together_** , Rodimus Prime and Galvatron found the answer that the Quintessons had been missing all along— _Spark-bonding_!   To forge new life needed _more_ than the spike and valve, _more_ than transfluid and a gestation tank—it _needed_ two vibrant and healthy Sparks to unite and create a newspark.   And _only_ Galvatron and Rodimus Prime had the capability to produce new life together.   **_Sire_** and **_carrier_** ………an _impossible miracle_ had finally come to pass.

            From First Aid’s research and coaching, they all learned it would take about one year from the initial Spark-bonding that ignited the newspark, until the full carrying had been achieved.   There was still much for the impatient and demanding sire to do for his devoted carrier in the meantime—interfacing was _extremely important_ for all three of them.  Some more Spark-bonding also needed to happen between the two—offering _more CNA_ to the growing newspark.  Interfacing with overloading provided the transfluid to the gestation tank—so that a frame could be forged, therefore **_a lot_** of interfacing was required and Rodimus Prime’s creation protocols made him _very needy_ for interfacing **_a lot_**.  So it may well have been best for him to spend most of the time on Chaar anyways.

            Galvatron was often amused by Rodimus Prime’s begging and neediness.  But sometimes he would get annoyed and demand that his Prime give him his spawn **_NOW_** , because he was tired of waiting.  Yes, “ _spawn_ ” was the word Galvatron chose to use for the newspark and soon-to-be-sparkling.   You _could not_ tell him any different words.  Patience was something Galvatron would _never_ have…………and proper parenting skills could never really be expected from the Emperor of the Decepticons.  However, the idea that _Galvatron_ had achieved something impossible was something the grey-and-purple mech would _never_ forget.  Nor would he allow anyone else to ever forget it either.

            So, in the end………..it _really was best_ that Rodimus Prime spent most of his time on Chaar—after about half the year had passed, First Aid had to cut away part of the young Prime’s chest armour and the flame-colored mech felt strangely naked with just his frame and derma showing.  Until it began to expand in the area of the gestation tank and he was incredibly grateful the chest armour had been removed—plus he had been promised a full brand-new chest armour portion once his carrying had been completed.  First Aid had insisted on travelling everywhere with his leader—so, he’d _finally_ adjusted to Galvatron’s whims and rages.   And when it finally came time for the sparkling to emerge from its carrier’s gestation tank, _it was good_ that Rodimus Prime was on Chaar.

            That day had finally arrived, though not with a bright dawn or a happy smile, but…………..

            Cyclonus screeched with fury when he came into his Lord Galvatron’s berthroom and found the mess in the berth, along with a whimpering, barely conscious young Prime.  The sticky mess soaking the entire luxurious berth had been the breaking open of the gestation tank, signaling that the sparkling had dropped into the valve and was ready to emerge.   Cyclonus nearly lost control and was about to kill Rodimus Prime in a furious rage when he was apprehended by a mass of Decepticons.  It took four Constructicons, two Combaticons and half the Sweeps to haul the enraged Second-in-Command out of the room.  Hook, Bonecrusher and First Aid recognized the signs and immediately settled in to do the work to help the young Prime bear the new life he’d been carrying for a year.

            And eventually Galvatron strolled in, roaring with laughter.

            “Oh, my Prime—I have _never_ seen Cyclonus so enraged _like that_ ,” the Decepticon Leader chuckled.  He walked over to the messy berth and leaned over to brush his young Prime’s helm, dewy with condensation.

            At that moment, all of Rodimus Prime’s attention fell upon him and he whimpered, reaching up to clutch his lord and lover’s servo desperately.  He had no words, but his field rippled with pain and need.   Galvatron laughed, it was a _different_ feeling of need than his Prime’s usually sexually-charged one.

            “Come now, my Prime—you are _very strong_.  This should be _nothing_ for you,” Galvatron teased, highly amused by the whimpering and trembling mess that Rodimus Prime had suddenly become.

            “He is in a lot of pain, Lord Galvatron,” First Aid said, softly.  Over the past year, he’d learned that addressing Galvatron with “ _lord_ ” seemed to keep him a bit calmer when holding conversations with the crazy-violent mech.

            Galvatron grinned devilishly at the Autobot Chief Medical Officer.  “ _Eh_.  It will be over soon enough,” he responded, highly amused by his Prime’s death-grip on his servos.

            “ _Soon enough_ ” was more like six hours plus—and if you asked Rodimus Prime afterwards, he would swear _he had died_ seven times—only to be revived each time by Galvatron’s mocking laughter.   But……..eventually it was _finally_ over and Rodimus had very little sensation or motor control left in his body.  He laid there, whimpering as small shockwaves of pain kept rippling through his valve.  He felt like he _never_ wanted to frag, **_ever again_** …………and would threaten Galvatron with death for even _suggesting_ any interfacing ever again.

            Then came the desperate, tiny wail…………and everything else was forgotten and pushed away.  The crying revitalized Rodimus Prime instantly, who struggled to sit up and braced his weakened body against the headboard and a mass of damp pillows.  He began begging for his sparkling, arms out and waving eagerly.

            “Looks like you still have words in your vocalizer after all, my Prime,” Galvatron chuckled, looking down at his precious Prime with something akin to some kind of fondness.

            “He’s so perfect………… _so perfect_ ………….” Rodimus whispered, looking at the tiny mech on his chest.  The sparkling had colors that looked as if to be dark purple and sunbright yellow on his tiny frame.

            “ _Of course_ he is.  _He is **mine**_.  **_My Novablaze_** ,” Galvatron said with a self-righteous snort, folding his arms and looking very smug indeed.

            “ _Novablaze_ ,” Rodimus Prime whispered………he was thoroughly enchanted by the small, tiny, purring little mech cuddling against what was left of his chest armour (mostly the upper portions).  “Thank you, my Emperor……….. _thank you so much for this gift_.  Our little Novablaze.”

 

 

 

**Final Story, Next: _Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?_**

**Author's Note:**

> Just kinda wanted to explore a bit of the Quintesson history of the Transformer race and how it might fit in here. I hope it works in a very probable and logical manner. :)


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